


You Set the House on Fire

by alien_wlw



Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst and Feels, Christmas, Christmas Party, Dallon Weeks is a Father, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Please tell me if I missed anything, Ryan's emo as heck, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alien_wlw/pseuds/alien_wlw
Summary: All Dallon wants is a nice, good old fashioned Christmas.But with a sulking Ryan, drunk-out-of-his-mind Brendon, strict family, and multiple secrets in tow, that's beginning to look damn near impossible.Will Dallon get his perfect Christmas, or will it all go up in flames?
Relationships: Brendon Urie/Dallon Weekes, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	You Set the House on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a cute little 1k one shot where everyone is happy and stuff. I...honestly don't know what happened.

It’s times like these one often forgets that Christmas is a time of celebration. Sure, bright lights and shiny displays follow you around. But if you’ve got even a dash of melancholy in your bloodstream, they will soon appear hollow; wooden. Symbols of forgotten cheer, rather than present enchantment. Dallon wasn’t one to get into arguments about tradition or such, but he felt like one of Christmas’ greatest traditions had indeed been lost: the boundless joy. The optimism without borders. The blind affirmations that happiness belonged to everyone. These were the thoughts that plagued Dallon as he drove his son, Ryan, across state lines.

They were on an epic road trip, one that had spanned two days. In less than an hour, they would hopefully be at a family reunion. Safe and sound. Hopefully.

Ryan was sulking in the backseat, his cheek pressed against the car window. “Dad,” he whined. “Why can’t we listen to Linkin Park?”

Dallon softly turned up his David Bowie cd. “You can listen to Linkin Park when you’ve got your own car.”

“Aw, come on!” Ryan crossed his arms. “It’s the holidays! Good will towards men! Let me be fucking emo for once!”

“I--” Dallon sighed. “Please don’t say ‘fuck’.”

Ryan smirked. “Why not? Isn’t that how you got me?”

Dallon stared ahead.

Forty-five minutes until they got his parent’s house. Then Ryan would have to be civil. He was a kid with sharp edges, but there was no way he wouldn't melt after a few good chocolate-chip cookies. Seeing the stockings over a brick-red fireplace. A couple sips of hot chocolate. Yes, Dallon told himself, that would mellow Ryan out. Good old-fashioned holiday cheer. He turned up David a little more.

“Give me your hands!” Bowie belted. “Cause you’re wonderful…”

“Hey, can we at least listen to uh, I dunno, something christmassy? Or are we just. Playing this one on repeat. Forever.” Ryan leaned forward in his seat. “Whaddya say dad, torture or Christmas carols?” 

“Torture,” said Dallon without a trace of irony.

Ryan groaned, and kicked his seat. “This is going to be the worst Christmas ever.”

Before Dallon could counter, his phone rang. He pulled over, silently wincing at the screech his tires made on the road. He knew who was calling. At this point it would be insanity not to. 

“Hey,” he said, as upbeat as he could. “What seems to be the problem?”

Mikey laughed. “Oh my god. My dude. You already know. Gerard and Frank are stuck in like, some dipshit town in Ohio.”

“Again?”

Ryan began scratching the windows, leaving behind thin little white marks. Dallon grimaced at the noise. Meanwhile, Mikey was pacing back and forth. “Yeah, I told them not to help strangers into their car, because of all the other stuff that happened, but long story short, this guy--Bob, I think--slashed their tires and ran off. They’re freezing dude.”

Dallon frowned. “That sounds awful. Anything we could do to help?”

“I think they’re going to get a hotel room but. I mean, what you should do is get Ryan to mom and dad’s house safe. I’m going to be there pretty late, and Gee and Frank might not be there at all. So set up the fire for me, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Mikey paused. “Oh, I also think Brendon will be showing up. Forgot to tell you. Toodles!”

Dallon dropped his phone. “Oh, fuck!”

“Please don’t say fuck,” Ryan said mockingly.

They arrived at the house early, funnily enough. The air had a kind of stale quiet to it, which was to be expected without Gerard and Frank filling up the rooms with Madonna parodies and off-key Christmas carols. Dallon never had to worry about Gerard and Frank, though. Gerard was his brother, and Frank, well, Frank was harmless enough despite his appearance. Dallon had grown used to their inside jokes and bad habits over the years. He could predict their movements and plans before they thought them. He wasn’t worried about Gerard and Frank because he knew everything about them.

He was worried about Brendon.

Dallon shook his head and moved towards the fireplace--it wasn’t lit. Lighting it would be a nice distraction. Yes. That is what he would do. He began looking around for the tinder box.

The second Ryan stepped in, he threw his bulky coat and shoes to the ground. It had been a long drive, and he had mostly spent it complaining and sleeping. His stomach felt empty, and tongue dry. Where was the kitchen again?

Just then, a small, big-foreheaded figure emerged from the darkness.

“Ryan!” It screamed.

“Oh. Hi Brendon.”

Brendon squealed, and outstretched his arms. He was dressed in a red onesie, and stank of beer. “Hug?”

Ryan shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Hug! Hug!”

“Nope.”

Brendon began to cry. “Hug? Please?”

Ryan reluctantly gave in. It was the longest and most awkward hug he had ever received, and he recoiled as soon as he could. “Umph.” Brendon had been a more recent presence in his life, but he still knew what to expect. At least he was a happy drunk. At least he didn’t tell Ryan to change.

“Hey, are you hungry?” Brendon asked, concerned. On top of the onesie, he was wearing an apron that read ‘kiss me, I’m beebo’. Clearly custom made. Ryan shuddered at the sight of it.

But he was hungry, goddammit. “Um, yeah.”

Brendon ran off, leaving Ryan alone in the hallway. It was the worst kind of hallway, too--seemingly endless, adorned with peeling wallpaper and busts of famous men. Ryan had only been to his grandparent’s house once before, when he was a premature baby everyone was terrified of losing.

He and Dallon shared the same inability to walk through spaces confidently, to wander around town without a map, or to venture into a new place without a creeping sense of dread. They were both stuck in their heads much too often for that. Thus, he knew that if he stepped in even one of those doors, he would soon become hopelessly lost.

Still. He couldn’t just stand here. Plus, it’d be nice to explore. Ryan chose the closest door to his right--a big mahogany one, with a gold-plated handle. Maybe this could lead to some kind of secret study, or forbidden sex dungeon. Nah, Ryan thought to himself, Gramma and Gramps are too boring for that shit. It’s probably just a closet.

He opened the door.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Ryan yelled. “You’re supposed to be fucking lost, you bastards!”

“Holy shit, the kid’s got a mouth on him,” Frank said from behind a coat.

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Not now, Frank.”

It was indeed a coat closet--a messy one, with clothes falling off hangers and shoes strewn haphazardly around. Gerard and Frank were sitting in the midst of the mess, evidently not caring about the mothballs on their shirts and dust in their hair. There were dark circles under each of their eyes--they both looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks.

Ryan groaned. “Oh my fucking god, are you two seriously hiding in a closet? That’s so fucking gay.”

Frank shrugged. “He’s got a point.”

“Look--we can debate how gay or not our various actions are later.” Gerard put his hands through his hair, and turned to look at Ryan. “It’s a long story, but the gist of it is, we arrived early, and got into a huge argument with my dad. We meant to leave that day, but, well, someone slashed our tires. I don’t know who. So we’ve been camped out in here for a bit. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Mikey, I just panicked, I guess. We were actually hoping to speak with your dad--”

“What was the fight about?”

Gerard and Frank exchanged glances. “Let’s not get into it right now,” Frank said quickly.

Ryan crossed his arms. “I know grandpa’s homophobic as fuck, okay? Y’all don’t have to hide that from me.”

Gerard leaned against the wall, and looked at Frank blankly. “He has gotten better. A little better, over the years.”

Frank snorted. “Or so we thought.”

“I mean, we did kind of announce it really soon. Like, before we had taken off our coats, and we didn’t even try to ease him into it--”

“He shouldn’t fucking have to be ‘eased into it!’”

“I-I’m not saying that.”

“Gee we shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.” They had obviously been arguing for quite some time now. Repeating their same views over and over again.

“I get that, I know.” Gerard’s voice got quieter the longer he went on. 

“Ugh. He’s such a fucking boomer. I’m sorry, but he is.”

Ryan blinked.

“Okay. I’m just--I’m just gonna close the door now. Good luck with”--he gestured towards the both of them--”I dunno, everything.” He hastily closed the door, and turned around.

Maybe he should just go wait in the car.

Maybe he should just leave this place while he still had a chance.

“Ryan! Blessed son!” Brendon suddenly reappeared, carrying a tray of cookies. “I have brought you sustenance! Feast, and be strong!”

“Oh. Thank y--wait, what kind of cookies are these?”

Brendon beamed. “I don’t fucking know!”

Ryan cautiously picked one up. The underside of it was completely burnt, and the other was covered in what looked like sunflower seeds. “You made these?”

“Yep! In a drunken haze, haha ya see”--he leaned forward and whispered, as if about to tell a grand and beautiful secret--”I’m a tad tipsy.”

Ryan put the cookie in his pocket. “Thanks Brendon.”

“No problem!”

“Hey, have you seen my dad?”

Brendon began excitedly jumping up and down, leading a few cookies to fall to the ground. “Yes! Oh my god, yes! I’ll lead you to him!” He then noticed the fallen cookies, and wailed. “My babies!”

Ryan barely had time to gather the crumbs before he was running after Brendon, chasing him through the winding hallways and secret tunnels, big libraries and cupboard-sized servants quarters. It was an exquisite house, the kind you’d expect in storybooks, not real life. Even when Dallon had hated his parents with every fiber of his being, he’d still loved the house. Now Ryan, even as he was chasing after Brendon, was struck with the same wonder. The same magical feeling. I could disappear here, he thought to himself, I could disappear and it would take days for anyone to find me.

Finally, they arrived in a spacious living room, decorated with smiling Santas and green and red paper chains. It looked like a holiday card. And to the far left, was Dallon, desperately trying to keep a fire going. Brendon noticed him instantly.

“Yo! Daldo! Nice ass!”

Dallon turned to look at Brendon with a tired look in his eyes. “Hi Brendon. I see you’ve found me again.”

Brendon nodded rapidly. “I did! And I brought your blessed son too!”

Ryan walked over to Dallon slowly, taking in the room with wide eyes. “Hey, dad?”

Dallon abandoned his slightly-burning logs. “Yeah?”

“Um, I just saw Frank and Gerard.”

Brendon gasped, while Dallon shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Inconceivable!” Brendon shrieked.

Ryan decided to whisper instead. “They got here early, but then grandpa started doing his boomer shit, and now they’re hiding in the coat closet.”

“What boomer...stuff?” Dallon asked.

Ryan shrugged. “I think Gee came out and Gramps started in on his famous ‘if god hates the gays so do I’ speech.”

Dallon bit his lip. “Goddammit.”

“Oh!” Brendon shouted from across the room. “Gramps! Is! Being! Bad! Again! So! Daldo! Can’t! Be! Gay! What! A! Tragedy! Oh! No!”

“Bren--”

“Boomers! Be! Booming! Zoom! Zoom! Bitch! I! Need! A! Dick! In! My! Ass! Stat! Bitch!”

Dallon’s mouth settled into a thin, straight line. “Could you please shut up?” He said to Brendon. “Honestly, I don’t know why they even fucking tolerate you.”

It took Dallon two seconds to realize his mistake.

Unfortunately, it only took Brendon one second to race out of the room, sobbing at an incredibly high volume with one hand over his mouth. Dallon’s shoulders slumped, and he crumbled into the nearest armchair.

Ryan went and sat next to him. For a while, the two sat in uneasy silence, sharing only sighs and inhales. Worried looks. Ryan took out his phone, only to put it back in his pocket after seeing the abysmal service. Typical. I knew this was going to be bad, Ryan thought to himself, but not this fucking bad.  
As the small fire began to die once again, Ryan wondered if things could get any worse.

“Okay,” Dallon said at last. “This day is starting to become a mess.”

Ryan nodded. “That is definitely one way to put it.”

“We can still make this better, though. We have time,” Dallon said, and got up from his chair.

“Plan?”

Dallon placed his hands on his hips. “Did Aunt Mikey ever teach you how to light a fire?”

“I think he gave me some pointers, yeah.”

“Okay, so you’re going to work on that, and meanwhile I’ll go into the kitchen to help Linda cook, and chat up dad. Then, we’ll regroup, and both look for Brendon so I can apologize. Ok?”

“Ok.” And just like that, they set to work.

They each tried to make the best of their respective tasks. I was a boy scout, Ryan reminded himself, I got kicked out for pranks, but that doesn’t make me any less of a boy scout. I can light this fire. I can do it because I am smart and I am capable, and I probably have the basic instructions somewhere in my mind. Aunt Mikey came over and did a whole lesson once. He did this because he knew I would remember. It was very informative and I will remember it. I will. The sooner I get done with this, the sooner me and dad can get out of here. The sooner I get done with this, the sooner I can get out of here.

My stepmom has never done anything wrong, Dallon reminded himself. She has bad taste in men, but that is not her fault. She doesn’t know what my father used to do. She’s homophobic, but she was raised like that. She just wants a nice family dinner, and I will help her and do a good job because I am a kind person, and worthy of love. Dad has gotten better, despite still being kind of a dick. Besides, he loves Ryan, and it would be cruel to take Ryan from him. The sooner I get done with this, the sooner me and Ryan can get out of here. The sooner I get done with this, the sooner I can get out of here.

He couldn’t help but think of Brendon. Bren wouldn’t get lost, Dallon told the dark corners of his mind, he knows this place. He helped take me far away from here once. Maybe he just went to a library, to cry in peace. Maybe he’s in one of those weird side-rooms. Or a secret passage. Maybe he ducked under the floorboards. Just to see what was there.

In reality, Brendon was heading towards that same closet Ryan had opened earlier, tears still running down his cheeks. He thrust the door open as dramatically as he could, even though his whole body was shaking. “H-hi guys.”

Gerard and Frank were in more or less the same positions, as if frozen in time. “Brendon!” Gerard smiled. “Have you seen Dal--”

Brendon let out a loud, melodramatic sob, and collapsed into Gerard’s arms. “He—”

Gerard held Brendon’s curled-up body tight, while making concerned faces at Frank. “Aw, sweetie, did something happen?”

Brendon nodded, and bit his lip. “It—we—I didn’t mean—”

“Aw, pumpkin. Things are gonna be okay, I swear to god. No matter what’s going on right now, things are gonna be okay.”

“I—he just—”

“Sweetie.”

The dinner preparations and chit chat went by faster than Dallon would’ve liked. Not that it was fun, wearing a fake smile and listening to his dad and step mom make ever-so-slightly dirty jokes, but at least he knew what he was supposed to do. Dallon didn’t cook much, but he knew the basics, and he could knead bread pretty well. And he’d had years of training for bowing down to his dad, of pretending to be the perfect son. It was an uncomfortable position, but it was familiar. It was the devil he knew.

Linda let out a cheap little laugh, and turned to Dallon. “Say, where’s your friend Brendon? I thought I saw him earlier.”

Dallon’s dad coughed. “He was in the kitchen, making cookies I think.”

Linda laughed again. “Oh, delightful!”

“I--I think he might’ve got lost. It’s a big house, you know.” Dallon swallowed. “I’ll go looking for him?”

“Do so!” Linda said, and poked Dallon in the stomach. Her laughter bounced around the room. Some kind of haunted echo.

Dallon stepped out into yet another hallway. He barely had time to catch his breath before being surrounded by a very angry Gerard, a confused but mad Frank, and a teary Brendon. His eyes widened. In fear, surprise, and then a large amount of guilt.

Gerard quickly backed him up against the wall, seething. “You have five minutes to apologize,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. Maybe not physically, cause I swore years ago to never use my strong-as-fuck fists for violence. But psychologically? I. Will. Mess. You. Up.”

Dallon looked at Brendon. His tears were drying, but he still seemed unbearably sad. Dallon had caused this. Not anyone else. “Bren, I’m so sorry. What I said was stupid, and I didn’t mean it. You’re not something to tolerate, or be shut up. You’re a shining light in the darkness. You’re one of my favorite people, and we are all lucky just to know you.”

Gerard nodded in approval, and let go of his death grip on Dallon’s sleeve.

Brendon hurriedly hugged Dallon, violently squeezing his ribcage, and possibly breaking a bone. “Thank you daldo.”

All Dallon could do was place his chin on Brendon’s head, and wrap his arms around the shorter man’s torso. He was afraid of what he would say if he opened his mouth.

Frank clapped his hands together, and smirked. “Now. Who’s ready to get wasted?” He asked, a malicious undertone in his words.

Brendon hesitantly raised his hand.

Ryan, Dallon’s dad, and Linda all sat at the dining table, awkwardly exchanging random questions and bits of bread. Ryan had never wanted to disappear into a hole more, and he was an emo kid who went to public middle school, so that was really saying something.

“So--” Linda refused to stop tapping her fingers against the table. “What do you like to do after school, Ryan?”

“Um. Mainly play video games and listen to music I guess.”

“Oh, music? What kind? You know when I was your age--”

Before she could finish her sentence, Brendon slammed the door open. He was wearing a cowboy hat, and Dallon was right behind him. “Hola! Fiesta manzanas juice bitch queso!”

Dallon shrugged at his dad and Linda’s confused looks. “I-I don’t know what he’s saying either.”

“He asked if the chicken was done yet,” Ryan said matter-of-factly.

Brendon’s mouth broke into a ridiculously big grin. “Grimp. Ninja hagsah malt!”

“He’s very hungry,” Ryan added. Brendon squealed.

And that was when Dallon knew dinner wasn’t going to be so awful this year. Because even though Brendon was speaking nonsense, Ryan, his wonderful son, could understand him. And even though his parents would never be as accepting as he wanted them to be, they could still roll with the punches, and enjoy Brendon’s black-out drunk company. And even though his stepmom had somehow found love with the man that made Dallon’s teenage years living hell, she made a fantastic roast chicken.

And for now, that was enough.

“Kitten gazebo. Jusliet!”

“Very coherent point, Brendon. Anyone else’s opinions on the chicken?”

“I like the skin the best.”

“Of course you do!”

“That better not have been a dirty joke…”

“Dally, get your mind out of the gutter!”

The conversation flowed like wine.

“So, Dallon, we hear you’re moving?”

“Yep. Further up north, with Ryan. Closer to Br--all my friends really.”

“Ryan, how do you feel about that?”

“Honestly, as long as I have my vinyls I think I’ll be good.”

“Ah, I see you are a man of culture.”

“Opsten blanket!”

“He offered to buy me some CD’s. Dad, please?”

Glasses clinked and Brendon’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Brendon, darling, are you quite alright?”

“I think he is. Just a bit in over his head.”

“Oh, dear. The man really likes his drink, doesn’t he?”

“Maybe a little…”

Dallon let himself get comfortable, if only for a moment.

“Have you tried the mashed potatoes, Brendon?”

“Lipat! Jesus sinsie mell.”

“He says there’s someone at the door.”

Of course, the peace was not to last for long.

Before anyone could even process Brendon’s words, the door was being thrust open once again. This time by a furious-beyond-belief Mikey. He had obviously been in a hurry, seeing as his leather jacket was falling off his arms and his hair looked less like hair and more like a bird’s next. But he refused to catch his breath, instead digging his nails into his side.

“What the fuck, dad?” Mikey shouted. “What the actual fuck? You’re just going to cut Gee off, just like that? You fucking asshole!”

Dallon stood up. “Mikey, if we could talk about this outside--”

“Fuck no!”

Brendon was growing more and more panicked. “Kinder lin jacketie!”

Linda shook her head. “My god…”

“Fuck this!” Mikey was fuming. “Just--fuck all of this!” And with that, he pulled a lighter from his pants pocket.

A collective inhale. 

Ryan started backing away. “Oh, shit. Holy fucking shit.”

“Mikey--” Dallon started.

Dallon’s dad huffed. “This is very immature of you, Michael. Either set the lighter down and apologize or leave this house.”

Mikey nodded. “Ok. Okay, fine. You won, dad. You fucking won.”

And then he tossed his lighter to the side. The flame danced, for a bit, in midair; and then promptly latched on to a nearby bookshelf.

“Jabniz excoil!” Brendon screeched, and grabbed onto Dallon’s arm.

What happened next was a flurry of motion and panic. Dallon grabbed Ryan, and pulled him towards the door. Smoke started billowing through the room. His head spun. The stench of burning paper. Linda shrieked and jumped on the table. Mikey ran off. The room was filled with screams and worry and frantic limbs.

“Oh my god, keep moving!”

“Fuck!”

Later, Dallon would think it was rather like one of those ancient greek bacchanals he had heard about. Insanity was on everyone’s mind, and the amount of smoke in the air did make one feel rather drunk. There was little to no clear thought--just strong emotion, welling up inside his chest. Fear, mainly. Plus a little bit of everything else.

“Get down! Get down and go to the left!”

“I can’t see you!”

He would be the worst father in the world if he let his only child die in a fucking fire.

“Where the extinguisher?”

“No time, call 911!”

What was Mikey thinking?

“That son of a bitch, ruining things like always!”

“Please, officer there’s a fire!”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Oh god.

“Do you hear sirens?”

“Haho con!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!”

None of it was ever very clear in Dallon’s memory later. There were scraps of conversation, and surges of emotion, but none of it would ever fit together to make a coherent whole. Questions would be answered in future, from time to time. Arguments fought, with this incident in the back of everyone’s minds. Evidence. Discussions, and cut ties. But Dallon couldn’t bring himself to put everything in vivid detail. The older he got, and the further in the past it went, the easier it was to just tell everything like a funny story. A good story. Censoring all the rage and hurt feelings. Replacing all the anxiety with disbelief, a much easier feeling to manage.

Ryan was a teen, and nearly every moment in his life right now was considered, by him at least, a grand tragedy. In his memory, this one just mixed in with all the others.

The firefighters did arrive eventually. Some parts of the room were burnt beyond repair, but it was largely salvageable. When they asked how it started, Dallon’s dad reluctantly said it was an accident. Mikey would not turn up until days later, with one short apology and a long note explaining why he would not be attending any future family reunions. Half of the note looked suspiciously like something Frank would write, angrily gripping a pen in the palm of his shaking hand, struggling to hold back every curse word in his vocabulary. A few sentences at the end looked like something Gerard would write, taking a deep breath after every word, Frank’s hands massaging his shoulders. But that of course is pointless speculation.

While the firefighters shouted out commands, Ryan went off to sulk in one of the libraries. He left Brendon and Dallon to sit on the back porch. The sirens still screamed in the background, but they were faint and dull. The air felt crisp, and Brendon seemed somewhat sobered up by the events of the last few hours.

Time slowly faded around them. As the minutes passed, and no one seemed to be checking in on them, or listening, Dallon let himself relax. He leaned over to press a kiss to Brendon’s temple. 

“So when can we tell them we’re engaged?” Brendon asked softly.

Dallon sighed. “Honestly, at this point, I just don’t know. The plan was for me to come out today, to weather that battle, and then for you to arrive tomorrow. You do know that was the plan, right?”

Brendon giggled. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t wanna wait one day to see you though. Plus, I thought your parents were gonna be nice!”

“Well. Some people don’t really change, I guess.”

Brendon frowned, and put his head in Dallon’s lap. “That’s stupid. Change is fun.”

“Most of the time,” Dallon said with a nod. It was the afternoon, but already dark, the sun just barely making its presence known. It was almost nice. Though not much else. 

“You leaving me wasn’t a fun change,” Brendon said bluntly. 

Dallon let out a short, bark-like laugh. “Yeah, well it wasn’t fun on this end either. But I got Ryan out of it, and I love him more than life itself.”

“You can’t just pull the Ryan card every time we talk about this.”

“I can, and I will.” Dallon carded his fingers through Brendon’s hair, and looked ahead. It was a picturesque backyard, even when it was covered in snow. This backyard should be given to a large family, with lots of little kids, so they could run around here and make snow angels. This backyard shouldn't belong to an aging couple with rotting brains.

“Mmm…” Brendon seemed to be getting sleepy. He always did have a habit of collapsing right after drinking. Dallon was just glad to be the one to hold him when he got tired, and carry him home. “You know, I am glad we’ve got Ryan now, don't get me wrong. He’s super cool. Real stellar kid. Chill as fuck.”

“Reminds you of you, perhaps?” Dallon raised an eyebrow. 

“Nah, he’s more like you. Angsty. Quiet. Can't stand my cooking.”

Dallon chuckled. “You know if you took even one cooking class--”

“Merry. Christmas. Dallon.”

“I mean, just one--”

“Merry. Motherfucking. Christmas.” Brendon closed his eyes. “Don’t ruin the moment, you tall child who I inexplicably love.”

Dallon just smiled, looking down on the half-asleep man in his lap. They were going to be just fine. Family behind them or not. “Merry Christmas Bren. Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all of that, then we're best friends now. :)


End file.
